Posts Categorized: Food
Faith and your dinner plate
Why did your organic milk get a ‘0 cow’ rating?
When in Iceland, eat sheep
There is Chicken Blood on my Pants (and No, I’m not a Witch).
It is quite humbling to catch a chicken, hold her, pet her, attempt to calm her, pass her off to Steve, and look her in the eye as the hatchet comes down. Then after plucking feathers, and knifing away the vitals, I carry it on ice to my freezer. I did that today. I caught a bird that has lived at Ferncliff much longer than I have, and helped end her life.
This article is about killing chicken. I thought you should know that here before you decide to keep reading or not.
There was a bright vivacious red color blood. There were feathers–lots of them. There was a small child calling at his father, “please don’t kill it Dad.” There was slimy smelly guts. There was skin. There were feathers we missed. There was yellow fat. It smelled like a dead animal, it did a lot of twitching. It bled on me. It’s smell lingers in my arm hairs hours later.
Whitewater Valley Presbytery Anti-Hunger and Opportunity Corps – VISTA member
Roots, Beets, Ashes
It was silly, but I was still surprised that they did not come out of the ground ready to be borsht. They are covered in dirt, dark brown, earthy smelling. And I realized; it was a root.Read more »
Christmas: A Cure for Winter Blues
In recent years, I find myself increasingly melancholy in the days leading up to Christmas. There is a lot I want to love about the holiday, like stopping and spending time with loved ones, and the outpouring of kindness on one another. These are beautiful sentiments, but so often hard to focus on during the hustle and bustle of the season.Read more »
The aroma of macaroni and cheese, collard greens, chicken, ham, green beans, potato salad, yams, corn pudding and corn bread slithers up my nostrils. Four generations of my family form a circle and link hands. We bow our heads for prayer. My uncle asks God to bless the food and the hands that prepared it. We whisper our thanks and say “Amen” in unison. We part and create a path for the elders to make their plates then the children. Everyone has a place at the table. We eat and laugh for hours. Plates are licked clean. Stomachs are full. Pants are bursting at the seams. We find comfort at the table, where our family congregates and share the fruit of their labor. Never do we discuss where our dinner comes from. Never do we discuss the health related consequences of the food we eat. All that seems to matter is the taste and the fact that we have plenty.
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